


I Could Leave But I Won't Go

by CaptainCupkirk



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Co-Parenting, Enemies to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:48:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,291
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22989598
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainCupkirk/pseuds/CaptainCupkirk
Summary: After raising Ciri for the better part of her childhood, Geralt never really got over losing her to her biological father when Emhyr took custody of her. He threw himself into work with everything he had, and admittedly didn't visit as often as he should have. He could see Ciri thriving in the stable environment Emhyr offered, and didn't dare upset the balance those two found with his prolonged presence. But when a call from Ciri makes him doubt that she really is wanting for nothing at Emhyr's he can't not intervene and makes his way to Nilfgaard, to stay this time.How hard can it be to co-parent his teenage daughter with Emhyr var Emreis? It's not like they're always at each other's throats whenever they talk for more than five minutes... oh wait.
Relationships: Emhyr var Emreis/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 107
Kudos: 212





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> One night a few weeks back I clicked on one of astolat's Emhyr/Geralt fics, not knowing I was about to win a new ship I could centre my entire life around... I have now read just about every fic for this ship there is and found myself forced to write my own content - absolutely barbaric. I don't think there are any Modern AUs for this ship in any language I speak so I thought 'Why not write one?' (Also, I may or may not be still not over the way Ciri calls Emhyr 'Papa' in one of the possible cutscenes in Blood & Wine and this is my way of coping with it. Enjoy!

The far too small chair groaned in anguish as Geralt leaned back. The woman next to him shot him a disapproving look over the small camcorder she was holding and Geralt just rolled his eyes. It wasn't his fault that crappy high school chairs were decidedly not built for his body type and it wasn't like that faint creaking would ruin her recording of the performance. Not that the performance was that worth recording in the first place, if you asked him. Really – he had thought he would do anything for Ciri, but he was seriously considering making suffering through terrible High School Drama Club performances of _Grease_ the only exception.

When Ciri finally joined her classmates onstage, Geralt leaned forward again (under heavy protest from his chair). Even though Ciri was belting out her lines far too loudly and not quite in tune, Geralt had to smile. He would rather strangle himself than admit it, but Ciri was visibly happier here in Nilfgaard.

Geralt shifted again, trying in vain to find an at least somewhat comfortable position. As he tried to stretch as subtly as possible, a dark-haired man leaning against the door frame of the hall caught his eye and Geralt almost fell out of his chair. What the fuck was Emhyr doing here?! Geralt had agreed to come to see Ciri's play _specifically_ because Emhyr had told her that he wouldn't be able to make it and Ciri wanted and deserved to have at least one parent at her performance. But Geralt hadn't been prepared to face Emhyr here. He knew it was stupid, but Ciri’s biological father was still a sore spot for Geralt. Sure, he was grateful to Emhyr for taking Ciri in, giving her stability and a regular daily routine. Geralt wasn't stupid, he could see how Ciri had thrived with Emhyr's help, but deep down Geralt couldn't help but see Emhyr as the man who took his little girl away.

Suddenly, Emhyr's eyes locked with Geralt's. Emhyr raised an eyebrow and smirked. Geralt jerked back, the heat rising in his cheeks. That fucking pompous ass was driving him crazy by just _existing_ in Geralt’s vicinity. And now he probably would have to talk to the guy after the play, and play nice with him too, to not traumatise the children.

Even though the first few scenes had dragged on forever, time seemed to speed up while Geralt concentrated on watching the rest of the play, trying to keep his treacherous eyes from seeking out Emhyr again. In the end, he spent most of the time fretting about what he was going to say and trying to find believable lies to get out of here as quickly as possible, but Ciri probably wouldn’t buy any of them and Geralt was here for her, after all. And if it made her happy, Geralt could even endure talking to that smug bastard for a few minutes.

That arrogant smirk still hadn’t left his face and he was still leaning on the doorframe in his stupidly expensive looking suit like he owned the place. Geralt wanted to slap himself across the face when he caught himself staring at Emhyr again, but he just couldn’t help it. There was something about the other man that commandeered attention, and Geralt’s irritation was somewhat eased by the fact that he wasn’t the only one completely and utterly distracted by Emhyr’s mere presence. A few parents were openly staring at him and even camcorder lady next to Geralt was suspiciously tilting the camera far more to the left than it would’ve been necessary to capture the children on stage.

Geralt tried – and failed – multiple times to concentrate on the play again, but suddenly people around him started clapping and he realized that the play was over and he had spent the last 20 minutes distracted by Emhyr doing literally nothing than standing in a corner. In his defence, though, Emhyr doing nothing was still more aesthetically pleasing than a bunch of teenagers butchering an 80s musical.

With a sigh, Geralt got up and let the crowd of parents push him along to the area next to the stage where he could wait for Ciri when a hand on his forearm stopped him.

“Geralt,” Emhyr drawled. “I didn’t know you were back in town.”

Geralt crossed his arms and eyed Emhyr suspiciously. He’d been back in Nilfgaard for almost a week now and had called Ciri the minute he had arrived. And Emhyr was trying to tell him that Ciri hadn’t told him? Or was this one of his stupid mind games again? Was he trying to get Geralt to admit something? Geralt was suddenly remembering emphatically why he hated talking to Ciri’s other father.

“I came back here for Ciri,” Geralt explained and gave Emhyr a challenging look. “Last time we spoke it seemed to me like she was desperate for some good old parental attention and affection. And rest assured that I’m always ready to drop everything and anything if I get the impression that she needs something. Especially if it’s something I can easily provide.”

“Ciri wants for nothing,” Emhyr said affronted. “I am more than capable to fulfil her every wish.”

“Uh-huh, sure. And what have your work hours been like lately, huh? How much time have you spent with Ciri in the last few days? I’m sure it’s a lot judging by the call I got a few days back – my daughter in tears because she had no one that would come to see her school play.” Ciri hadn’t cried, she’d been mildly distressed and pretty fucking angry, but Emhyr didn’t need to know that. And as Dandelion always said: sometimes a little exaggeration was needed to get your point across.

“She’s _my_ daughter,” Emhyr hissed. “And I’m here, am I not?”

Geralt let out a hollow laugh. “You want me to award you a medal because you managed to see the last third of Ciris school play after making her think you had more important things to do? Father of the year, if I’ve ever seen one.”

“Oh yes, because showing up for a few days before disappearing again for months is much better parenting. Or even better, dragging her across the whole continent with you, so you can do your research in the middle of nowhere. I’m sure there’s nothing better for a child than to grow up around a bunch of highly specialised biologists, where the people closest to her age are a few research assistants in their mid-twenties!”

“At least I was always right there if she needed something, instead of fucking off to my office and leaving her alone so I could deal with ‘more important’ people,” Geralt shot back, clenching his fists.

“Right until you weren’t,” Emhyr said snidely. “Did you ever think about what it’s like for her now? Growing up with you always right next to her but the moment I took custody you just up and left and now she’s lucky if she gets to see you for two weeks in a row before you’re off to some new remote wildlife reserve and do you know who is there to pick up the pieces when she can’t sleep because she misses you so much? I am. She needs the stability I can give her, and you know it.”

Geralt took a deep breath to insult Emhyr, his parenting skills (and probably the circumstances of his conception as well) into oblivion when he heard someone approach them from behind. He turned around and there stood Ciri, her skin still a bit sweaty but with a mischievous glint in her eye as she went to hug Emhyr.

“Papa, what are you doing here? I thought you had a meeting you couldn’t miss?” she asked.

Geralt tried not to let it show on his face how much it stung to hear Ciri call Emhyr ‘Papa’ of all things. But before he could feel too much as if he’d been replaced, Ciri jumped into his arms and hugged him tightly.

“And you, Dad, thanks for coming,” she mumbled into his neck. “Are you able to stay for dinner, this time?”

“Actually,” Geralt said and caught Emhyr’s gaze over Ciri’s shoulder and smirked, “I took a research position at the University of Nilfgaard. Looks like I’ll be staying for quite a while, this time.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After an unhoped-for meeting at Ciri's school play, Emhyr, Geralt and her have dinner together. What could possible go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys... I'm BLOWN AWAY by the response to the first chapter! Thank you to everyone who left kudos or a comment. You have no idea how happy all those comments made me. They were also incredibly motivating, so I churned out this chapter in the last few days. Please tell me if you notice any mistakes, I half-heartedly betaed this, then decided to die like a drowner against a level 30 Geralt. Enjoy!

The atmosphere at dinner was icy. Ciri seemed to be the only one not bothered by the abundance of death glares thrown around. She was happily chatting away in between bites and heartily munching on her dinner, while Geralt took only small bites of the (admittedly fucking delicious) steak and Emhyr kept on taking tiny sips from his glass to avoid answering, his face pinched in displeasure as if Geralt had personally pissed in his wine. At this point, Geralt wished he had.

“So, Geralt,” Emhyr started after a few awkward moments of silence, after Ciri had run out of stories to tell them, “what made you decide to stay in here in Nilfgaard after all? Last I heard you were still delivering sparkly speeches about the advantages of field research and the degeneracy of lazy elitist academics.”

Geralt shot him a dark look. “The concept may be unfamiliar to you, but I’m indeed able to put my personal preferences aside for a person I care about. And Ciri is my daughter, too, y’know? Maybe only by the Law of Surprise, but nonetheless my child.”

“Oh please,” Emhyr huffed. “The Law of Surprise is a ridiculous and outdated concept. I am thankful that you took her in after Calanthe died until I was able to take care of her myself, but the Law of Surprise doesn’t make you anything more than a glorified godfather.”

Geralt gritted his teeth. “I know, I was there in court the day you took custody of her, remember?”

A loud and clearly irritated harrumph interrupted Emhyr, before he could even start to answer. Ciri was looking at them both with a sickly-sweet smile on her face, but her eyes screamed murder in a way that reminded Geralt of Yennefer. He couldn’t quite decide whether he wanted to be proud or curse his friend for teaching his little girl her ways. One pair of eyes disapprovingly staring at him had been more than enough for all these years, thank you very much.

“ _She_ ,” Ciri said in a way that felt very much like the calm before a storm, “has heard this argument like a million times already and would like to have a nice dinner with the two men she considers _both_ her dads. Maybe they could try to pretend not to hate each other for her sake for a few hours and also not talk about her in the third person when she’s sitting right between them.” She pointedly stared at Geralt with a carbon copy of Yennefer’s disapprovingly pursed lips until he grumbled an apology. He made a mental note to have some words with Yennefer later about turning his own daughter against him.

“So, how’s life been at your firm lately,” he said to Emhyr in a pathetic attempt at small talk. “Any interesting cases? Had some interns with more than one braincell? Maybe some with less than one braincell I could poach and use as fodder for the drowner specimen in the lab?”

Geralt could swear he saw Emhyr grin at that, but the other man quickly hid behind his wine glass again, not just taking a sip, but completely draining it, as if to buy more time.

“Oh, it’s been a good month actually. A prominent lawyer got arrested for tax evasion a while ago and because he was not the most… well-liked person in the legal community, the district attorneys are fighting over who gets to prosecute him and frankly, it’s the best entertainment I’ve had in a while.” He filled his glass again and took another sip, not even trying to hide his smugness.

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Uh-huh, and all his high billing clients are now looking for a new corporate lawyer and you just happened to be around.”

“Well, I can’t help it if my good reputation precedes me, can I?”

“I don’t know if I’d call it a _good_ reputation if all the cutthroat CEOs in the city thought I was the perfect guy to defend their schemes, but what do I know,” Geralt grumbled, but a stern look from Ciri stopped him before he could add a dig about his hourly rates and if Ciri had to become a paying client if she wanted to see him more than two hours a day.

Something flashed in Emhyr’s eyes and Geralt kind of wanted to know what he had to say, but Emhyr too seemed to hesitate when he glanced at Ciri. Expectantly, Geralt raised an eyebrow at him, but Emhyr stayed silent. He kept his eyes trained on Geralt and started slowly sipping on his wine again. Geralt didn’t know what to make of the situation. He picked up his fork again and tried to ignore Emhyr’s burning gaze as he continued chatting with Ciri about innocent little stories and anecdotes from his most recent research expedition and in turn, Ciri updated him on the latest gossip on her fellow students and even included a particularly juicy rumour about her English teacher, who was spotted making out with the 8th grade music teacher. Emhyr seemed content to just listen, but Geralt could practically feel the schemes brewing in the back of Emhyr’s mind.

“I think your bedtime is approaching fast, isn’t it, Cirilla? Don’t think I forgot that it’s still a school night,” Emhyr said after a few beats of comfortable silence after they’d all polished off their plates. In all honesty, Geralt had forgotten that it was a school night for Ciri, but Emhyr didn’t need to know that, so he nodded along and tried to put on a ‘stern, but responsible parent’ expression. Judging by Ciri’s stifled snort, he wasn’t doing too well.

“Geralt, would you like to join me for a drink in front of the fireplace while we wait for Ciri to get ready?” Emhyr asked cordially and Geralt was immediately suspicious. Either, Emhyr was already completely hammered from all the wine he was guzzling at dinner and forgot that he and Geralt were supposed to hate each other, or he was scheming again and it was far too late in the evening for Geralt to try to outwit him. He wasn’t sure if he should accept, but before he knew what he was doing, he nodded slowly and when Ciri beamed at him, he knew he had made the right choice, no matter what Emhyr might have planned. Who knew, maybe all that would happen was Geralt getting some of Emhyr’s nice and expensive whisky. Cautiously optimistic, Geralt followed Emhyr into the living room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took a while, but the thing is: I like history and I like researching. So when I wrote a little sentence about Emhyr's alcohol collection I thought it would be funny to try and calculate the modern day value of crowns and florens using medieval to modern day inflation. The short version of that story is: it was a bad idea. The long version is in the end notes of this chapter, if you're as much of a nerd as I am and want to read about medieval wine price calculations.

Emhyr’s living room hadn’t changed since the last time Geralt had been inside a few years ago, just after Ciri had moved in. First, they had bickered, then they had argued and after that they had moved the fight to the tastefully furnished living room, so Ciri wouldn’t hear the nastier insults in their respective repertoires. Geralt had been livid that night, but now he remembered the evening almost fondly. After all, who else could claim the honour of having made Emhyr var Emreis, the White Flame himself, who was revered for the way he destroyed his opponents in court with a legendary cold collectedness, so damn furious that he was about to smash a bottle of a 75 Floren whisky on their head? Instead of throwing the bottle though, he had just thrown Geralt out and they’d come to the unspoken agreement that Geralt would meet Ciri anywhere that was not Emhyr’s house when he was in town. Until now, apparently.

Emhyr wordlessly pointed at one of the black armchairs in front of the fireplace. Geralt plopped down unceremoniously. Say what you will about Emhyr, but even Geralt had to admit that the man had taste. The living room wasn’t showy at all, but Geralt didn’t have any doubts that it must’ve been very expensive. The three armchairs alone – real leather, very nice – must’ve cost a small fortune. Absolutely worth it though, Geralt thought as he let himself sink deeper into the very comfortable chair. He was used to uncomfortable, swanky furniture when he met with wealthy people to beg for research grants, but Emhyr’s living room was his favourite kind of luxurious: useful, practical, good quality and Geralt didn’t have to pay for it himself. Melitele’s tits, this damn chair was more comfortable than his bed. He should try playing nice with Emhyr so he could stay forever. In this chair.

He watched Emhyr drop a match into the already expertly stacked firewood before turning around to look at Geralt again.

“I believe I offered you a drink,” Emhyr said calmly, nothing in his voice betraying any hidden intentions, Geralt was sure he had anyway.

“I distinctly remember a really nice whisky you had lying around in here. Though it was more flying than lying around last time I was here, huh?” Geralt smirked. “Wouldn’t mind a shot of that.”

Emhyr’s eyes widened for a split second, before he regained control over his features.

“Certainly,” he said, keeping his voice carefully neutral. He looked strangely stiff as he searched through the elegant cabinet and poured Geralt his drink. Could it be… Was Emhyr _embarrassed?_

Deciding to test that theory, Geralt playfully raised his glass towards Emhyr before taking a sip and humming appreciatively. “That’s good stuff,” he said huskily. “Good thing it didn’t break or something before I got to taste it. Never know with these fragile glass bottles.”

Emhyr audibly gritted his teeth. “Are you quite finished? I did not invite you here so you could remind me of your uncanny ability to give me headaches in record time.”

Aha. So Emhyr _did_ want something else from him, something he didn’t want to ask about in front of Ciri.

Geralt leaned forward and rested his forearms on his legs, toying with the glass that he still held in his hands. He looked up at Emhyr, who was still standing and stared directly into his dark brown eyes. “Why did you invite me here then?”

Emhyr closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths as if to calm himself down, before sitting down in the armchair opposite of Geralt.

“So, you are certain that you will be staying in Nilfgaard for the foreseeable future?”

“Contract’s for a year, for now. Open for renegotiation after that,” Geralt nodded.

“And we can agree that both of us want what’s best for Ciri?” Emhyr went on.

Geralt nodded again, though he had his doubts that they’d also agree on the finer details on what exactly was best for her.

“Splendid. And would you also agree that it would be sensible to establish some ground rules to minimise potential disagreements?”

Geralt rolled his eyes. “Are you serious, Emhyr, just tell me what you want. I’m here for Ciri, not to antagonise you, so just tell me your fucking ground rules and I’ll listen.”

Emhyr opened his mouth, and Geralt immediately cut him off again. “And talk normally, for fuck’s sake! I’m not going to sue you over these rules, no need to phrase them like a bloody contract.”

“As you wish. I want you to acknowledge that I am the one responsible for Ciri’s upbringing and education and I want you to promise that you will not undermine my authority in these matters, even if you do not agree.”

Geralt eyed Emhyr suspiciously. “I won’t actively undermine you or your parenting in front of her, but if I don’t agree with something you do, it will be because it’s harming Ciri and you better believe I’ll be here to discuss that with you.”

“I don’t know why I expected anything else,” Emhyr grumbled. “Very well. Furthermore, I expect you to be present.” He held up his hand as Geralt went to object. “Hear me out. I know you have the best intentions, and I appreciate the effort you made to stay here in one place for Ciri. However, I want you to make sure that you will actually _be there_ for her. Do not get distracted by new projects, keep your commitments to her. Melitele knows, I am guilty of getting caught up in work as well. So please do not forget that being in the same city will not be enough.”

Geralt’s throat suddenly felt very dry. “I promise,” he said hoarsely. The atmosphere felt strangely heavy and he took another sip as he and Emhyr both silently stared at the fire, which was now burning brightly in the fireplace. Geralt had of course known that both he and Emhyr wanted what was best for Ciri, but never before had he felt this strange kind of companionship with her other father. Maybe Emhyr wasn’t as much of a cold-hearted bastard as he liked to pretend and maybe their half-baked co-parenting arrangement would actually work out. Geralt smiled as he finished his whisky and looked over to Emhyr, cautiously optimistic for now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda fell down a financial research rabbit hole for this chapter... You can buy a bottle of Erveluce (which is one of the more fancier wines) for 35 crowns in Witcher 3 and you can exchange one Nilfgaardian floren for three crowns at Vivaldi's bank, so generously rounded a bottle of Erveluce would be 12 florens. So far so good... But then I had the glorious idea to try and factor in the inflation from a currency from the middle ages to a modern era and yeah. I actually found a price list that said that you could buy a pretty nice bottle of wine for about 2 shillings in the late 13th century in southern England. 2 shillings in 1290 had about the same buying power as 73,50£ today. Then, I calculated the modern pound relative to the medieval pound (1 pound in 1290 are like 735,46£ in buying power today) and applied the same rate of inflation to our little bottle of Erveluce... to find out that those 12 florens would now be 8.825 modern florens which looks like a ridiculous amout of money to pay for a bottle of whisky. Especially one you want to throw at Geralt. Emhyr might be rich, but he ain't _stupid_. So I scrapped the whole idea and just took the completely arbitrary amount of 75 florens which sounds about right for a nice bottle of whisky. So yeah, I hope the wait for this chapter was worth it. I did more maths than writing for it because I'm an idiot. 
> 
> To celebrate this idiocy, I made a side twitter account for my writing ramblings. If you want to talk to me about medival wine prices, please slide into my DMs at @erveluce.


	4. Chapter 4

Geralt cursed as he tried to embed the video into his PowerPoint presentation and just like the three tries before, the text rearranged itself all over the slide. He started angrily smashing the undo button a few times, but the entire program just froze.

“Take this research position, they said. It will be fun, they said. Strictly researching, absolutely no teaching, they said. Look at our state-of-the-art labs and our cool equipment, all these resources,” he grumbled to himself. And he had believed them, like an idiot. And here he was, preparing a lecture because the professor teaching the third semester biology students was dumb as shit and almost killed himself trying to cut down a tree in his backyard. And _of course_ the mandatory lecture for third semester students was intro to monster biology, which _coincidentally_ was Geralt’s field of research. The dean had called it _destiny_ that they had hired him and could continue to offer a top notch education to their students, despite that _terrible accident,_ and he had looked so fucking delighted at the prospect of having Geralt, _a legend in this field,_ hold the lecture, that Geralt wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that the dean himself had dropped that tree on poor Professor Mertens.

Geralt looked back at the screen, which wasn’t frozen anymore, at least, and tried to get the troubleshoot program to stop whatever the fuck it was trying to do.

“This is why all the smart professors hire student assistants,” Geralt sighed. He took one more look at the messed-up presentation slides and then went to grab his phone. He’d have to swallow his pride and call his own student assistant. At least he wouldn’t have to pay her, just endure a little bit of mockery. He dialled Ciri’s number and was surprised when the call was answered only a few seconds later. Usually, he had to wait up to a minute and a half before she finally found her phone that she had left somewhere and immediately forgotten about it.

“Hey princess, just calling to let you know that you were right, and I was wrong. I hereby admit that I am a useless boomer who’s horribly overwhelmed by basic technology, so please help with this stupid PowerPoint?” he said, before Ciri could even get a word in. Better to get it over with.

“I haven’t been called ‘princess’ since junior year in high school,” drawled Emhyr in his distinctive, velvety voice. “Even though it wasn’t usually this affectionate. Can’t say that I’ve missed it.”

Geralt dropped his phone.

“This is Ciri’s number,” Geralt said, his mind still reeling from the shock, after he had scrambled to pick up the phone from the floor.

“I am aware,” Emhyr answered. Was that _amusement_ in his voice?! “But Cirilla is at her kickboxing class right now and you usually don’t call unless it’s important.”

“Yeah, well, not that important, just the university’s dean trying to drive me insane with third semester students who expect lectures with PowerPoint presentations.”

“Well, I have it on good authority, that I am also a useless boomer. However, I do have a few interns at my beck and call who regularly create very professional-looking presentations. When do you need it finished?”

“Uhh… like… tomorrow morning?”

“Short notice, but certainly doable. Send me your draft and you will have your finished presentation emailed to you by tomorrow morning at eight.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Geralt sputtered. “You want your interns to do a stupid biology professor’s PowerPoint?” He glanced at his watch. “After hours? And overnight? Can’t imagine they’ll be thrilled…”

“They know better than to ask questions or protest,” Emhyr said nonchalantly.

Wow. Fuck. Geralt knew he should be horrified by this offer, but… it sounded really tempting.

“I can’t accept this,” Geralt said to make at least a token effort to decline politely.

“Nonsense. I will buy the interns pizza and coffee tomorrow, if it makes you feel better. And you’ll owe me.”

Damn, that didn’t sound ominous at all. He’d rather owe the poor interns who would be forced to make the PowerPoint than Emhyr, but whatever favour Emhyr would think of couldn’t be worse than trying to make this presentation work on his own. Probably. Hopefully.

“Alright,” Geralt said reluctantly, “I’ll email you the draft.”

“Splendid. You will not regret it.”

“Doubt that,” Geralt grumbled, and hoped Emhyr wouldn’t hear it through the phone.

Before Geralt could add anything, a bit of racket and a muffled voice on Emhyr’s side distracted him.

“It’s Geralt,” he heard Emhyr say, followed by an excited squeal and suddenly he had Ciri on the phone, who sounded still a bit out of breath, but was chattering without pause anyway.

“Dad, I was amazing today!” she proclaimed. She went on, telling him about how she had won the training match against Janna, even though they technically weren’t in the same weight division. Geralt hummed approvingly and smiled. Convincing Emhyr to let her keep up the martial arts classes was the best decision he’d ever made.

“Anyway…” she said and Geralt didn’t like the smug tone her voice took at that. “I didn’t know you and Emhyr called each other to chat in the evenings. Do you have something you want to tell me?”

“No,” Geralt grunted. “We don’t call each other, and we don’t talk to each other.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” Ciri said, unimpressed. “Clearly, you were just silently exchanging glares. Over the phone.”

“It was a business conversation, nothing more.”

“A business conver-? Are you kidding me? What kind of business stuff would you two even talk about? Are you trying to tell me you’d ask Papa about legal advice? Or that he needed a biology professor as the star witness in one of his cases?”

“No, nothing like that. I was trying to get you to help me with a PowerPoint presentation, but since you were still out, Emhyr is now forcing his interns to do the entire thing for me,” Geralt admitted.

Ciri burst out laughing. “I can’t believe you two. That’s such a boomer move.”

“Yes, yes, I’m aware,” Geralt huffed. “Now stop being so cheeky, or you are doing the PowerPoint for next week’s lecture.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This lockdown is really sucking the life out of me and when I stopped trying to become one with the sofa for a second, I realized I hadn't touched this story in an entire month. But thanks to your lovely comments and some really sweet people on twitter and in my book club I got really excited to write again <3  
> Stay healthy, y'all and I hope the governments in your countries aren't going too crazy ;D  
> See you soon (hopefully)!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was supossed to be fluffy Geralt & Ciri bonding, but somewhere along the way it turned into angst about Geralt's backstory. I'm so sorry for the emotional whiplash...

“Oh, you have no idea how much I missed this!” Ciri laughed giddily and spun around a few times before plopping down on the tall grass in the clearing. Geralt smiled as he pulled himself up the last ledge of the mountain. When he looked at Ciri, he could almost see his little girl again, trousers torn at both knees, little branches and leaves in her ashen air as she crawled through the dirt looking for insects to show to Lambert.

“Believe me, I know,” Geralt said softly and started unpacking their lunch. Ciri was up again and exploring the clearing and Geralt doubted that she’d even heard him. It was probably better this way; he could do without the teasing about getting old and sentimental.

Suddenly, something heavy collapsed on his back, and Geralt whirled around, his hand already on the hilt of the silver knife he always carried with him, but instead of a monster ready to attack, he only got an armful of Ciri when she lost her balance as he had moved.

“Feed me,” she moaned, as if she had been starving for days instead of running and jumping around the mountaintop just now. Geralt handed her one of the sandwiches and they ate together in silence, Ciri snuggled closely to his side.

“Why haven’t we gone mountain climbing together for so long?” Ciri asked after a while. She sounded so timid, completely unlike her usual bubbly and confident personality.

Geralt gently nudged her with his shoulder. “Not my fault Emhyr abducted you to a city with no real mountains in sight.”

“Oh, come on, you’re being unfair!” she said, but she was smiling again, so Geralt counted it as a win. “It’s not like Papa – I mean Emhyr – specifically chose Nilfgaard just to annoy you with the lack of mountains.”

“It’s okay, you can call him Papa in front of me, y’know? I won’t wither and die like a flower you stepped on.”

“I don’t know, it feels weird to call him that in front of you.”

And rightly so, Geralt thought grimly. He knew it was childish, but something inside him died a little each time he heard Ciri call Emhyr ‘Papa’. Ciri didn’t have to know that, though.

“Call him whatever you like, I’ll manage,” Geralt grunted.

Ciri raised an eyebrow and for a second, she really looked like the spitting image of Emhyr when you were trying to bullshit him, and he wasn’t buying anything of it.

“That still doesn’t explain why you never took me here before, when you were visiting. The drive wasn’t too bad.”

Geralt snorted. “I’ll remind you that you said that on our way back, when you go stir crazy half an hour into the drive.”

Ciri rolled her eyes. “Ha ha. Very funny.”

“It’s not that I didn’t want to take you climbing, princess,” Geralt sighed after it became clear that Ciri wouldn’t let this topic slide, “or that I didn’t miss this. It’s more that I missed this too much. And if I’m being honest, back then I wouldn’t have trusted myself to take you back to Emhyr once we were out here.”

“Naaah, you would’ve felt guilty after like five minutes on the road and would’ve turned around immediately to bring me back to Nilfgaard, you big softie.”

Geralt chuckled. “You’re probably right,” he hummed and hugged her tightly. “I’m glad I moved here and I solemnly swear that I’ll take you climbing whenever you like from now on.”

“Whenever I like?” Ciri asked slyly.

“Within reason,” Geralt added quickly.

“I love you, Dad,” Ciri said and pecked his cheek. “Do we have any more sandwiches?”

“You’ve had two already! You can’t still be hungry!”

“I’m a growing child!” Ciri protested.

“More like a bratty child,” Geralt huffed, but handed Ciri the last sandwich anyway.

“Well, you were the one who raised me, so you only have yourself to blame,” Ciri said while happily munching on her sandwich.

“Hell no, that colossal cheek is 100% Lambert’s doing.”

“I’m telling him you said that!”

“He’ll agree, and probably be proud.”

“Is he still living in Novigrad?” Ciri asked.

Geralt nodded. “As far as I know, yeah. Apparently, he found himself a boyfriend there. Eskel was going to check the guy out, but I don’t know if he had found the time yet.”

“I still don’t understand why you don’t text or call each other to catch up every now and then, like normal people.”

“We see each other often enough when we bump into one another on research sites. And there’s always winter at home. It’s just not the same, talking on the phone. We tried, but can’t see each other, we can’t smell each other, it’s like no one’s even there.”

“Is it because of the secret things that were done to you when you were children?”

Geralt froze. “Who told you about the orphanage?” he asked sharply. “Was it Emhyr? That fucker. He knows exactly that you weren’t supposed to learn about all that, yet”

“It was Vesemir, years ago, our first winter together,” Ciri interrupted Geralt’s rant. “I asked him why you, Eskel, and Lambert were always so close to each other, napping in a big pile, nuzzling each other’s necks… I had never seen adults behave like that and he just said that you had been treated badly as children and you needed the support from one another.”

Geralt remained silent and tried to get his breathing under control. He wasn’t ready to talk about this, least of all with Ciri. He could see the glaring lights again, hear Eskel scream next to him…

“Listen, Ciri,” Geralt croaked out. “That’s a long story, and I don’t think that this is the right time to unpack that mess. I promise you that I’ll tell you, okay? Just not right now, please.”

Ciri didn’t look convinced at all. “And when’s that gonna be? I’m almost an adult and I can handle difficult news!”

Geralt sighed. At least the panic had ebbed away quickly, but Ciri certainly wasn’t making things easier. “You might be of age soon, but being an adult is a whole nother thing, princess,” he grumbled. “This winter, alright? I wanna have a talk with Eskel and Lambert first, because this is about them, too. Sounds fair?”

Ciri nodded reluctantly. “Alright. But don’t think that I’ll forget about it!”

“Yeah, yeah. Now pack up and let’s get going or we won’t get off this mountain before sundown.”

Ciri obeyed and started cleaning up the piles of wax paper they’d wrapped their sandwiches in, though not without complaining about child labour the whole time. Geralt was tempted to make her carry the backpack on the way down because of it, but he really did want to get going and wasn’t in the mood for another discussion. Instead he started quizzing Ciri on the trees and animals they saw on their way down. He wasn’t sure if he was trying to distract himself or her, but it seemed to work either way. When they reached the car, they were rewarded with a beautiful sunset and Geralt didn’t think about the dark basement with the bright lights anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was really blown away but your many, many lovely comments on Chapter 4. I hope you liked this one too, even though it was a bit dramatic :'> The next one will be funnier again, I promise!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After taking Ciri out on a hiking trip, Geralt gets her home far too late. Trouble awaits them, though it might not be the trouble Geralt expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh fuck, I'm SO LATE WITH THIS. I'm sorry, but my university workload's been kicking my ass and exam season is only starting. I warned y'all that I'm the slowest writer alive and I wasn't kidding. This chapter is a tad longer than usual, please forgive me for the long wait? :D

It was dark and much, much later than Geralt had planned when he pulled into Emhyr’s driveway. The deal had been to get Ciri back home at around seven, but a glance at his watch told him that it was past ten already. Fuck. This wasn’t exactly the best note to start this whole co-parenting thing on. Emhyr was the one with full custody after all and if he decided that Geralt wasn’t reliable enough to take Ciri on trips, there was little Geralt could do about that.

“Soooo... Did you think of a good explanation already?” Ciri asked sheepishly.

“What, you don’t think he’ll be understanding when I tell him about how his daughter got it into her head to try and catch every damn bug we came across our way down? Surely, he’ll be appreciative of your thirst for knowledge.”

“Har har, Dad.” Ciri rolled her eyes. “You know, you could’ve tried to stop me instead of providing insect fun facts for me. So Emhyr will probably blame the delay on you, for being a pushover.”

Ciri was right and they both knew it. Sadly, Geralt didn’t have a good excuse up his sleeve, so he would probably have to take Emhyr’s condescending berating for now, and bribe him into letting him see Ciri again later. At least that gave him more time to brainstorm ideas.

Geralt was mentally preparing himself for the glares and accusations of complete incompetence that were surely awaiting him, but when Ciri unlocked the front door, the house stayed dark and quiet.

“Saved by the constant need to overwork himself,” she grinned with relief. “Probably forgot about the time.”

Geralt frowned. “He’s still at work? This happen often, Ciri? If he’s neglecting you–”

“Oh gods, calm down Geralt! He’s always home for dinner and after that he’ll disappear into his office upstairs to do all the work he delegated again himself, because he isn’t satisfied with it while I get a couple of hours to myself before going to bed. I really don’t need constant supervision, y’know?”

Geralt pressed his lips together. He knew better than to argue about that with Ciri. She was growing up, needed her freedom, and he knew that – but that didn’t mean he had to like it.

“You want some dinner?” he asked instead. Trail mix was all well and good, but not exactly the most satisfying meal after a long hike.

Ciri nodded and herded Geralt towards the kitchen, where she left him to his own devices and went upstairs to shower. Raiding Emhyr’s kitchen felt weird and Geralt didn’t know what to think about the book on fiscal law that was just chilling next to the tomatoes in one of the cabinets. He took the tomatoes, left the book where it was and got to work. Thankfully, Emhyr’s kitchen was stocked pretty well and Geralt had no troubles finding some bread and mozzarella cheese. There was even a slightly anemic looking basil plant he could steal a couple of leaves from.

He was almost done with assembling the tomato bread slices when Ciri joined him in the kitchen. Her hair was still wet and left a damp spot on his shirt when she snuck up on him and hugged him from the side and nudged her head under his arm.

“I could’ve chopped off my finger, you little gremlin,” Geralt grumbled.

“Cutting mozzarella isn’t exactly precision work. And don’t act like you didn’t hear me come in.”

“Maybe I did hear you, but do you really have to jump everything like a kitten when you enter a room?”

Ciri chuckled. “You should be used to it by now.”

“And you should’ve outgrown it by now,” Geralt huffed. “I’m not getting any younger and one day my bones will crumble. Just imagine how awkward the funeral will be. _Killed by his own daughter_ , they’ll whisper. _We lost him just because of her obsession with piggyback rides.”_

Ciri spluttered and punched his shoulder. “You’re horrible!” she laughed. “Now what’s for dinner?”

“Help me get the cheese on the bread. Shouldn’t take more than 10 minutes in the oven and then we’ll be good to go.”

“Ooooh, tomato bread!” Ciri hummed in delight. “I haven’t had any in _ages_!”

Probably because Emhyr’s recipe repertoire didn’t include many dishes you could potentially cook in the toaster oven in a staff lounge, but Geralt’s tomato bread could easily take any fancy dish and crush it with its delicious simplicity.

They ate directly on the kitchen floor. Ciri burned her tongue on the still too hot tomatoes and Geralt got breadcrumbs all over himself and the kitchen floor, but it still was the nicest dinner he’d had in a long time. In moments like this it really hit him how much he had missed Ciri. It wasn’t the big tours or long hikes that were important, it was this: spontaneous late-night dinners, laughing together on the kitchen floor and just being together without the deadline of the next departure hanging over their heads.

Ciri had made herself comfortable, lying on the floor with her head on Geralt’s thigh when the kitchen door suddenly opened and revealed Emhyr standing there. Geralt nearly spit out his water. Emhyr was wearing what looked like the fanciest sweatpants Geralt had ever seen and a rumpled dress shirt that was half unbuttoned. His dark hair was falling into his eyes, the product neatly holding it back long gone, and he blinked a few times as he took in the scene in front of him.

“I… smelled food,” he said, sounding a bit dazed.

“Yeah… Geralt cooked,” Ciri said lamely after a few bits of silence.

Geralt was still staring at Emhyr. He had never seen the other man look so human. Hell, he was _barefoot!_ Emhyr rubbed his eyes and Geralt didn’t understand why his insides suddenly fell like they were being twisted.

“You want some?” he heard himself ask.

Emhyr nodded and took one of the tomato breads from the baking tray. Then he sat down on the ground and leaned his head against this cabinet door. Geralt was 86% sure he was having a fever dream right now.

“I have an intern I would offer you as drowner food,” Emhyr announced between bites, “but his complete and utter idiocy would probably mess with their digestion and falsify your research results.”

“Drowners can take a lot,” Geralt assured him and passed him another tomato bread he practically inhaled. Was this what Emhyr looked like stress eating?

“This guy invented a new kind of stupid. How can someone manage to screw up every single accounting entry he was responsible for? It is not that hard. He had to type in information in labelled boxes in a simple form, save and send it to the accounting team with one single click. This kind of incompetence makes me sick. He has been learning how to fill out these forms for weeks. How is he still not able to perform this one task in a way that does not make my entire firm’s finances collapse?!”

What was Geralt supposed to do? Pat his head? Massage his shoulders?! He passed Emhyr another piece of bread.

“You’re probably right. This one’s a bit much for a few drowners. I know a guy studying arachasae venom in a lab on Faroe, though. These nasty bastards could probably manage to polish off even the stupidest of interns.”

Emhyr giggled. Actually real life giggled. With mussed hair and tomato stains on the collar of his shirt. The fever dream probability was rising to 93%.

“Don’t tempt me, please. The lack of realistic opportunities to get rid of the body is the only thing that has stopped me from killing him until now and I still have two months of records to clean up.” Emhyr stared at the empty baking tray full of melancholy. “I really need to get back to work.”

Ciri, who had stayed relatively quiet, suddenly sat up with a glint in her eye. Geralt immediately had a sense of foreboding.

“What if Geralt stays over tonight?” she asked sanctimoniously. “He could make breakfast and take me to school, so you won’t have to worry about all that.” Before Geralt could even think of an objection, she continued. “And Geralt wouldn’t have to drive through half the city this late.”

“I don’t mind handling breakfast, if me staying’s alright with you,” Geralt grumbled, too tired for a lengthy argument with Ciri.

“Yes, yes, why not,” Emhyr mumbled distracted. “I’ll be in my office. Ciri can show you everything.” He hadn’t quite finished his sentence before he was already out of the kitchen.

Ciri was grinning far too smugly, in Geralt’s opinion, but he followed her upstairs without commenting. If Emhyr was too tired for rational thoughts and Geralt got a night on a nice memory foam mattress out of it, he certainly wouldn’t complain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was sponsored by my tomato bread craving. These little guys are seriously the best snack/party food. You need a good white bread like a nice baguette or ciabatta (works with dark bread as well, but I know it's not as popular internationally). Spread your favourite green pesto on the sliced bread, put cherry tomato slices on it, season that shit with salt, pepper and whatever else you like, put some fresh basil leaves on top and then finish it with mozzarella on top of that. 10-15 minutes in the oven at 180°C (or whatever unholy number that is in Fahrenheit) and you're good to go. As Geralt said, it absolutely works in shitty toaster ovens as well.
> 
> Sleepy Emhyr was inspired by this ( https://twitter.com/BSDJBS/status/1262076064127315968?s=20 ) art by Albi. Ever since I've seen the fanart, loose haired Emhyr has been haunting me and this and all the other fanart is the only thing keeping me alive right now. Follow her if you haven't aready done so, trust me you won't regret it!

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you like this so far! Please feel free to cry with me over this ship, because sadly none of my friends agree with me about the merits of this pairing...  
> A word of warning: I am the slowest writer on this planet, so updates may take a while, but they will come eventually, I promise!


End file.
